


Exsequiae

by Ariss_Tenoh



Category: Coldfire Trilogy - C. S. Friedman
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-13
Updated: 2014-09-13
Packaged: 2018-02-17 05:32:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2298320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ariss_Tenoh/pseuds/Ariss_Tenoh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was inevitable, Gerald thought, that it would end this way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exsequiae

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on April 17th 2006. For Alice who said "Gerald? Please? I don't even mind if it's an evil ficlet." Be careful what you wish for, my dear^_~

_Until you come for me, Vryce, he thought. Until you do what your nature demands, and try to put an end to me. In my domain. On my terms._

_~ The Hunter, Black Sun Rising, p.578_

 

In a chamber, deep deep within the black keep where Silence reigned supreme and Power sat on a throne of violet lay a figure wrapped in softest silk and intangible fae.

 

Footsteps disturbed the air and the dark fae hissed in retaliation for the intrusion.

 

A figure unnaturally white, like bleached bones, bowed and said, "Forgive me, my lord."

 

Another figure drowned in darkness, opened its eyes and asked, "What is it, Amoril?"

 

"You have a visitor, my lord." The man called Amoril hesitated but continued when the other said nothing. "It's the priest."

 

A rustle of silk as the figure moved and sat up on its numarble resting place.

 

"So.. he is here." Grey eyes, darkened into black by fae and the prospect of the hunt, gazed past the chamber's walls.

 

The Forest awakened at its master's touch and the trees, the birds, the very ground focused their hungry malevolence on the one who dared enter their realm.......

 

 

.............. It was inevitable, Gerald thought, that it would end this way.

 

He looked down at the man lying on the ground, clothes torn with red blood dripping from a dozen deep wounds. A sword with a golden hilt was discarded nearby.

 

The man was breathing heavily, wetly. Blood obviously seeping into his lungs and choking him. It was a race between death from blood loss, a failed heart, or failing lungs.

 

"It did not have to end this way, Vryce." Gerald Tarrant uttered the words without any nuances, the absence of emotion suggested the difficulty of what was being left unsaid.

 

Vryce coughed up blood, a good portion of whatever was left in his body. "No, I think we both knew it would come to this. I don't regret meeting you though." There was a strange sort of affection in those words when his face could only form a wry smile. He tried to speak more but shuddered violently. Death already gripped his life in its bony fingers.

 

Gerald knelt beside him, his hand on his sword's hilt. The sword's Coldfire blade providing the only illumination against the Forest's blinding darkness. Its blue flames cast the two men's features into sharp relief.

 

Vryce raised a bloody hand toward Tarrant. Tarrant didn't move closer, nor did he move out of the dying man's reach.

 

"It's vulking unfair that I can't even be angry at you for killing me." Vryce coughed.

 

He could count the man's individual heartbeats. One, two, stop, then three, four, then flutter..

 

His eyes had a glazed look that grew faraway. "You're so beautiful...." When the priest's hand dropped, it left a trail of warm blood on the Hunter's face.

 

Gerald touched the blood on his cheek.

 

He looked at Vryce.

 

The man's heart was still. He was already gone.

 

Unbidden, a long ago memory roused itself from some forgotten part of Gerald's mind......

 

_She stood there in her night gown and her wool shawl, braving the winter's cold winds to see him leave. He'd wanted to leave before dawn; his presence or lack thereof wouldn't mean anything to his father or brothers. It was best to leave without seeing them, that was his opinion._

_"I worry about you. Going so far. Alone."_

_He stepped closer and kissed her right and then her left cheek. "You need not worry. I can take care of myself. I'm not a boy anymore." His tone was warm and full of the love he held for this woman._

_She hugged him, her grip strong despite her ill health. She drew back and gazed her fill of him._

_"No, you've grown to be a very handsome man." She placed the palm of her hand against his face and smiled gently. "My dear son."_

 

................... His hand shook ever so slightly and he looked at it not comprehending the memory or its relevance to the scene before him. The scene of a dead man with a background of a black forest, a play in its final act.

 

Gerald Tarrant, the man, the soul... screamed for the first time in nine centuries but the soul's scream was silent and lost within the vast confines of the undead entity that was the Hunter.

 

The wind blew through the forest and then veered sharply away from it on fae-born currents of dark emotion.

 

Though not human and incapable of human thoughts and feelings, that night.. those born of demons and fae alike felt the hollowness of something irrevocably lost.

 

Pity them for they have no tears to shed.

 

~ End ~

**Author's Note:**

> "Exsequiae" is Latin for "funeral rites."


End file.
